I looked at her. Her thin gray dress fluttered in the wind, revealing the sheer fragility of the body beneath it. She looked like a ghost lost in the human world.

  Standing next to my dark red spider-silk coat, she looked like a dull stain.

  This aesthetic bothered me.

  As a generalist, I favored efficiency and harmony. Her "broken" presence was a blight on my surroundings.

  "We are going to a clothing boutique," I decided.

  "Yes, Sir."

  We entered the most luxurious boutique in the port. The shop attendant initially eyed Alicia with disgust—a broken doll wrapped in gray rags. But that look vanished the instant she saw my dark red spider-silk coat. Money was the best perfume to mask the stench of poverty.

  "Change her clothes," I ordered, taking a seat on the waiting sofa and lighting another cigarette.

  "What sort of style, Sir?" the attendant asked cautiously.

  I looked at Alicia, who stood frozen like a statue.

  "Restore her dignity. Something neat, high quality, and functional. She is not a display piece; she will be moving with me."

  The attendant gave a brisk nod and pulled Alicia toward the fitting room.

  Ten minutes later, the curtain opened.

  Alicia stepped out wearing a flashy pink evening gown covered in heavy lace. Too many ribbons. Too 'doll-like'. She stood stiffly, her hands awkwardly clutching the skirt.

  "No," I said flatly, without putting out my cigarette. "Too loud. Change it."

  They went back in.

  Five minutes later, she emerged again. A tight black dress with a plunging neckline. The attendant was trying to highlight her sensuality.

  "No," I cut in sharply. "I am not looking for a prostitute. I am looking for elegance. Change it."

  This process repeated several times. An emerald green dress (too heavy), a hunting suit (too coarse). Alicia simply complied, going in and out of the fitting room like a voiceless, living mannequin.

  Finally, she came out for the fifth time.

  "How is this one, Sir?"

  I straightened my back.

  This time was different.

  She wore a practical noble-style suit, slightly boyish yet unmistakably feminine. A crisp, long-sleeved white shirt with a high collar. A well-fitted dark maroon vest. Straight-cut black trousers fastened with an elegant, slim leather belt. Clean, short black boots, and a simple black ribbon tying back her neatly combed red hair.

  She looked sharp. Clean. Efficient.

  The red of her vest complemented my dark red coat.

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  She no longer looked like a frail slave, but rather the personal assistant of a high-ranking noble.

  "This..." I murmured softly.

  Alicia stared at her reflection in the large mirror. For a fleeting second, a flash of confusion crossed her empty eyes, as if she couldn't recognize the dignified girl staring back at her.

  "Why..." she whispered faintly. "Why these clothes..."

  "Perfect," I decided, standing up from the sofa. "It suits you. Functional, yet dignified."

  "Do you like it, Sir?" the attendant asked, her eyes gleaming.

  "Yes. I'll take this suit. And..." I pointed to a pile of other clothes she had tried on that looked decent enough, including a silk nightgown and a traveling cloak. "I'll take all of those. Prepare five more sets in the exact style she is wearing now."

  Alicia looked at me, her lips slightly parted.

  "All... of them?"

  "All of them."

  I tossed a pouch of gold coins onto the cashier's counter.

  "Wrap the rest. Send them to the address I'll write down for you. She will wear this one right now."

  We dined at the finest restaurant in the port.

  Class-A monster meat steak.

  I ate quietly. Alicia sat in silence across from me, her hands in her lap. Her food remained untouched.

  "Eat," I ordered.

  Her hands moved automatically. Slicing, lifting, chewing. Precise, graceful, soundless. Dining etiquette that had been rigorously instilled in her since childhood.

  But she wasn't enjoying it. She was merely refueling because she was commanded to.

  I set down my fork. My appetite was gone.

  Buying a human was entirely easier than making them feel human again.

  The journey home was a blur.

  I used a VIP teleportation gate—an exorbitant facility that could only be paid for with an unreasonable amount of gold coins.

  The City of the Sun's Son.

  Nighttime.

  We stood before the iron gates of my home.

  A massive stone mansion on the outskirts of the city. Quiet. Dark.

  I turned the heavy key.

  Click. Creak.

  The door opened, exhaling a breath of cold air and the familiar, faint scent of dust.

  "Enter."

  We stepped inside.

  The marble floors reflected the moonlight spilling through the gaps in the windows.

  This house was far too large for one person, and even now, it still felt too large for two.

  I flicked my thumb—not magic, just a lighter—to ignite the oil lamp in the living room.

  A dim yellow glow illuminated the vast, nearly empty space.

  Alicia stood in the center of the room, her bag of new clothes in hand. She looked around, bewildered.

  Perhaps she had expected a torture chamber, or at least a kitchen where she would be put to work.

  But this house... was empty. Just like her.

  "Follow me upstairs," I instructed.

  Alicia followed me in silence. Her footsteps were nearly inaudible on the stairs, as if she were afraid of waking the ghosts in this house.

  We reached the second floor.

  I opened the double doors at the end of the hallway.

  The Master Bedroom.

  The room was spacious.

  In the center sat a massive bed with pristine white sheets that had rarely been touched.

  In the corner, near the floor-to-ceiling glass window, lay my personal sanctuary: a worn leather recliner, a small side table with an ashtray, and stacks of books.

  Through that window, one could see the empty garden and the clear moon hanging high above the slumbering city.

  "Put your things over there." I pointed to an empty wardrobe near the en-suite bathroom door.

  Alicia set her bag down hesitantly. She looked around, her eyes darting from the enormous bed to the recliner in the corner, and finally to me.

  "Sir..." Her voice broke the silence. "Where are the servants' quarters?"

  "There are no servants' quarters. You will sleep here."

  Her eyes widened slightly. The instinctive fear of a slave surfaced for a fraction of a second. She glanced at the massive bed.

  "In... that bed? With you, Sir?"

  I took off my red coat and tossed it over the back of the recliner.

  "Don't misunderstand. I have no physical interest in you."

  I walked over to the small table by the window.

  A glass jar of coffee grounds sat waiting.

  I brewed a cup using the remaining water from the magic heating kettle. The bitter aroma filled the room, chasing away the lingering, foreign scent of the slave shop.

  "Sleep in the bed. It's yours now," I said, settling into the recliner with my back to the room, facing the large window.

  I lit a cigarette.

  Haa...

  Smoke billowed out, pressing against the cold glass pane.

  "Then where... will you sleep, Sir?" she asked softly, still standing rigidly in the center of the room.

  "I'll be right here."

  I patted the armrest of my recliner.

  "I don't like sleeping in beds. They are too soft. Too... dulling to the senses."

  The truth was, I simply suffered from insomnia. And whenever I did manage to sleep, nightmares of an absolute void often awaited me. This chair was safer. Watching the night sky was far more soothing.

  "But..."

  "Go to sleep, Alicia," my voice softened, just a fraction.

  A heavy silence hung in the air for a long moment.

  Then came the rustle of fabric. Hesitant footsteps approached the bed.

  The faint creak of mattress springs compressing under a light weight.

  She climbed into bed.

  I didn't turn around. I simply watched her faint reflection in the window glass.

  A small girl in a giant bed, curled up beneath the thick blankets.

  And a man in a corner chair, accompanied by nothing but smoke and coffee.

  One room. Two hollow humans.

  One who felt empty despite having everything.

  And one who had been emptied out by losing everything.

  There were no walls between us, yet the distance felt like thousands of miles.

  "Good night, Sir," she whispered, her voice muffled by the pillow.

  I didn't answer.

  I merely took a sip of my coffee, letting the caffeine and nicotine anchor my sanity on the border between consciousness and dreams.

  Tonight, at the very least, the sound of her breathing filled the empty frequency in my ears.

  [Illustration Prompt: Interior of a large bedroom at night. Viewed from behind the MC. The MC is sitting in a recliner near a large window facing the moon, holding a cup of coffee and a cigarette (with billowing smoke). In the background (slightly blurred or off to the side), Alicia can be seen asleep/curled up on a massive bed that looks far too large for her. The atmosphere is cold, deep blue, and lonely.]